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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



SONGS .A^'D LYRICS 




HER PICTURE 



SONGS AND LYRICS 



BY 



ELLEN MACKAY HUTCHINSON 



IVITH FRONTISPIECE FROM A PAINTING 
BY GEORGE H. BOUGHTON 



OF 



'cOPYRiGHT? 



.fj^ 



OCr 2: 



BOSTON 

JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY 

1881 






Copyright, t88i, 
By James R. Osgood and Company. 

yj// rights reserved. 



University Press : 
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 



TO 



ELLEN SHEFFIELD PHELPS 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Moth-Song 13 

Her Picture 15 

Harvest 17 

The Runaway 20 

So WAGS THE World 22 

At THE Palace-Gate 23 

Sea-Way 24 

At Sea 25 

A Flower's Epitaph 27 

Priscilla 28 

The Sweet Betrayal 31 

The Date in the Ring 32 

In Snow 35 

Shadow Song 36 



8 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

On the Road yj 

Nocturne 38 

Wind-Flower 40 

O Golden Arrow 42 

The Sentinel 43 

Blue Flags 44 

A Day in Spring 46 

The Shadow 47 

March Songs 48 

For Love is Blind 50 

A Lover's Answer 51 

The Difference 52 

April Fantasie 54 

The Prince 56 

All the Year round 57 

Love's Imagination 59 

The Quest 61 

May Morning Songs 63 

Tryst 65 

Marguerite 67 

Autumn Song 70 

Summer Night . 71 



CONTENTS. 9 

PAGE 

Quaker Ladies 72 

The Ways of Love 75 

Olivia 76 

Lilac 'j'j 

-A Summer Rain 79 

All in All 81 

November Days 82 

To-morrow %t^ 

Love in Hermitage 84 

A Cry from the Shore 86 

Morning-Glory 88 

The Hidden Charm 90 

Under the Stars 92 

Vagrant Pansies 93 

June 96 

Midsummer Song 08 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 



Page 

What dost thou here 13 

Autumn was cold in Plymouth town 15 

Sweet, sweet, sweet 17 

Joy, my tender fairy 20 

Memory cannot linger long 22 

If at thy palace-gate 23 

The tide slips up the silver sand 24 

Flying down into the dark 25 

These dead leaves were a violet once .... 27 

My little Love sits in the shade 28 

My darling tries with all her art 31 

The women dressed her for farewell 32 

The golden meadows sleep in snow 35 

The silver dew hath come again 36 

Dost know the way to Paradise ? yj 

Wan Twilight in her gown of gray 38 

I thought to find my darling waiting in the wood . 40 

O golden arrow on the spire 42 

He paces round the fortress wall 43 

What sweet rebellion in thy blood 44 

Little violets in the garden staying 46 

If he once were dear 47 

Aloft, alow, the mad winds blow 48 

Fate counselled her if she were wise 50 

An early rose, a late rose 51 

The budding boughs before him bent .... 52 



12 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 

Page 

The fresh, bright bloom of the daffodils ... 54 

September waves his golden-rod 56 

Go, time and tide, go as you will ...... 57 

There is a pretty herb that grows 59 

It was a heavenly time of life 61 

When Chanticleer in early morn 63 

Under the willow on a summer day 65 

From da-\\Ti to nightfall at her window sitting . . 67 

Red leaf, gold leaf 70 

Lend me thy lance, O gracious moon .... 71 

More shy than the shy violet 72 

Sweet and bitter together 75 

With flout and pout and pretty frown .... 76 

I cannot tell why lilac flowers '/^ 

The rippling music of the shower is still ... 79 

Her Love, he hath a lordly way 81 

Flying, flying 82 

O summer day, that art so brief 83 

Behind closed doors and double locks he bides . 84 

Come down, ye graybeard mariners 86 

Flower-o'-flax is like the sky 88 

Whether my life be glad or no 90 

O Night, look down through cloud and star . . 92 

They are all in the lily bed, cuddled close together 93 

Of silvery-shining rains 96 

Now flits the bee through clover -dales .... 98 



MOTH-SONG. 

What dost thou here, 

Thou dusky courtier, 
Within the pinky palace of the rose ? 
Here is no bed for thee, 
No honeyed spicery, — 
But for the golden bee, 
And the gay wind, and me 

Its sweetness grows. 
Rover, thou dost forget ; — 
Seek thou the passion-flower 
Bloom of one twilight hour. 

Haste, thou art late 1 
Its hidden savors wait. 



14 MOTH-SONG. 

For thee is spread 
Its soft, purple coverlet ; 

Moth, art thou sped ? 
— Dim as a ghost he flies 
Through the night mysteries. 



HER PICTURE. 15 



II. 



HER PICTURE. 

Autumn was cold in Plymouth town : 

The wind ran round the shore, 
Now softly passing up and down, 
Now wild and fierce and fleet, 

Wavering overhead, 
Moaning in the narrow street 
As one beside the dead. 

The leaves of wrinkled gold and brown 
Fluttered here and there, 
But not quite heedless where ; 

For as in hood and sad-hued gown 
The Rose of Plymouth took the air, 

They whirled, and whirled, and fell to rest 



i6 HER PICTURE. 

Upon her gentle breast, 
Then on the happy earth her foot had pressed. 

Autumn is wild in Plymouth town, 

Barren and bleak and cold, 
And still the dead leaves flutter down 

As the years grow old. 
And still — forever gravely fair — 

Beneath their fitful whirl, 

New England's sweetest girl. 
Rose Standish, takes the air. 



HARVEST. 



17 



III. 



HARVEST. 



Sweet, sweet, sweet. 

Is the wind's song, 
Astir in the rippled wheat 

All day long. 
It hath the brook's wild gayety. 
The sorrowful cry of the sea. 

Oh hush and hear ! 

Sweet, sweet and clear, 

Above the locust's whirr 

And hum of bee 
Rises that soft, pathetic harmony. 



i8 HARVEST. 

In the meadow-grass 

The innocent white daisies blow, 
The dandelion plume doth pass 

Vaguely to and fro — 
The unquiet spirit of a flower 
That hath too brief an hour. 

Now doth a little cloud all white, 

Or golden bright, 
Drift down the warm, blue sky ; 

And now on the horizon line 
Where dusky woodlands lie, 

A sunny mist doth shine. 
Like to a veil before a holy shrine. 
Concealing, half-revealing 
Things Divine. 

Sweet, sweet, sweet. 

Is the wind's song. 
Astir in the rippled wheat 

All day long. 



HARVEST. 19 

That exquisite music calls 

The reaper everywhere — 

Life and death must share, 
The golden harvest falls. 

So doth all end — 

Honored Philosophy, 

Science and Art, 

The bloom of the heart ; — 
Master, Consoler, Friend, 

Make Thou the harvest of our days 

To fall within thy ways. 



THE RUNAWAY. 



IV. 

THE RUNAWAY. 

Joy, my tender fairy, 
Wilful, wistful, airy — 
I pray you, tell me why 
You are so very shy. 

Don't I want you, love you, 
Look and long to prove you 
Friend, as I to you. 
Faithful, gentle, true ? 

" You don't know how to find me : 
You don't know how to bind me ; 



THE RUNAWAY. 

I fly, yet am not shy — 
Shall I tell you why ? 

" Because, while you pursue. 
My sweetness I renew ; 
I fold my wings to rest 
In some less eager breast ! " 



so WAGS THE WORLD. 



SO WAGS THE WORLD. 

Memory cannot linger long, 

Joy must die the death. 
Hope 's like a little silver song 

Fading in a breath. 
So wags the weary world away 

Forever and a day. 

But love, that sweetest madness, 
Leaps and grows in toil and sadness, 
Makes unseeing eyes to see, 
And heapeth wealth in penury. 
So wags the good old world away 
Forever and a day. 



AT THE PALACE-GATE. 23 



VI. 

AT THE PALACE-GATE. 

If at thy palace-gate, 
Dear, thou dost bid me wait 
And take such dole of love 
As thy calm heart may move, 
In truth, I have no way 
Nor will to say thee nay. 

I^ from my living heart. 
Love, thou dost bid me part. 
And leaving it with thee 
Keep only memory, — 
Alas ! I have no way 
Nor will to say thee nay. 



24 SEA-WAY. 



VII. 



SEA-WAY. 

The tide slips up the silver sand, 

Dark night and rosy day ; 
It brings sea-treasures to the land, 

Then bears them all away. 
On mighty shores from east to west 
It wails, and gropes, and cannot rest. 

O Tide, that still doth ebb and flow 
Through night to golden day : — 

Wit, learning, beauty, come and go. 
Thou giv'st — thou tak'st away. 

But sometime, on some gracious shore, 

Thou shalt lie still and ebb no more. 



A T SEA. 



VIII. 



AT SEA. 



Flying down into the dark, 
Cloudy schooner, brig, and bark, 
Flit away beyond the bar. 
Melting, fading, far and far — 
Flying down into the dark. 

Flying fast from strand to strand, 
Spurning ocean, spurning land, 
A sea-bird wheels in ardent quest. 
Pr'ythee, brother, canst not rest ? — 
Flying fast from strand to strand. 



26 AT SEA. 

Flying far beyond the blue, 
Thought 's a wilful wanderer too ; 
Love, dost draw my dreams thy way ? 
All in vain I bid them stay — 
Flying far beyond the blue. 



A FLOWER'S EPITAPH. 27 



IX. 

A FLOWER'S EPITAPH. 

These dead leaves were a violet once, 

A tender, timid thing, 
A sleeping beauty till the wind 

Kissed it awake in Spring. 

Then for one little, little hour 
It knew Love's deep delight ; 

Unto the wooing wind it gave 
All that a violet might. 

And then it drooped and faded happily ; 
For having loved, it was not pain to die. 



28 PRISCILLA, 



X. 



PRISCILLA. 

My little Love sits in the shade 

Beneath the climbing roses, 
And gravely sews in a half-dream 
The dainty measures of her seam 
Until the twilight closes. 

I look and long, yet have no care 
To break her maiden musing; 

I idly toss my book away, 

And watch her pretty fingers stray 
Along their task confusing. 



PR ISC ILL A. 29 

The dews fall, and the sunset light 
Goes creeping o'er the meadows, 
And still, with serious eyes cast down, 
She gravely sews her wedding-gown 
Among the growing shadows. 

I needs must gaze, though on her cheek 

The bashful roses quiver — 
She is so modest, simple, sweet. 
That I, poor pilgrim, at her feet 

Would fain adore forever. 

A heavenly peace dwells in her heart ; 

Her love is yet half duty. 
Serene and serious, still and quaint, 
She 's partly woman, partly saint, 

This Presbyterian beauty. 

She is so shy that all my prayers 
Scarce win a few small kisses — 



30 PR ISC ILL A. 

She lifts her lovely eyes to mine 
And softly grants, with blush divine, 
Such slender grace as this is. 

I watch her with a tender care 

And joy not free from sadness — 
For what am I that I should take 
This gentle soul and think to make 
Its future days all gladness ? 

Can I fulfil those maiden dreams 

In some imperfect fashion ? 
I am no hero, but I know 
I love you, Dear — the rest I throw 
Upon your sweet compassion. 



THE SWEET BETRAYAL. 31 

XI. 
THE SWEET BETRAYAL. 

My darling tries with all her art 
To hide young Love within her heart, 
But, prisoned in that tender nest, 
He frets, and frets, and will not rest ; 
And soon the little rogue I spy 
At play within her laughing eye. 

My darling tries with all her skill 
To bind young Love unto her will, 
But work such witchcraft as she may. 
The pretty rebel hath his way. 
He decks her cheeks with blushes rare, 
And lingers in the dimples there ; — 
In glance and blush and smile I spy 
All that my love would fain deny. 



32 THE DATE IN THE RING. 



XII. 

THE DATE IN THE RING. 

The women dressed her for farewell 

In snowy silk and lace ; 
A crown of her braided hair they set 

Above her quiet face, 
And on her placid breast they laid 
White roses, as became a maid. 

Her mother bent and kissed her lips. 
And kissed her braided hair. 

And folded down the peaceful hands 
Upon the bosom fair. 

And, weeping, saw on one a ring — 

A little golden, time-worn thing. 



THE DATE IN THE RING. 33 

She took it from the icy hand 
And looked for rhyme or name — 

Something to say why it was there, 
From whose fond thought it came. 

She only saw, through many a tear, 

A date long past — day, month, and year. 

" 'T was some schoolfellow's gift," she sighed, 

" The child forgot to show," 
And put it back in its own place 

With tender touch and slow. 
And saw its tiny glitter rest 

Like sunshine on that quiet breast. 

Ah, little ring, you kept it well, 

The secret of your date 1 
Whatever its meaning, it goes untold 

Beyond the earth and fate : 
Pain or blessing — who can say 
How much of either in it lay ? 



34 THE DATE IN THE RING. 

We watch the light in our darlings' eyes, 
The lines that the slow years bring, 

Yet know as little what they mean 
As the secret of the ring. 

Joy or sorrow — God only knows 

How much of both lies under the rose. 



IN SNOW. 



XIII. 



IN SNOW. 



35 



The golden meadows sleep in snow ; 
The arrowy winds about them blow, 
And icy sparkles come and go. 

The golden meadows sleep in snow ; 
But underneath the grasses grow, 
And daisies dream of bud and blow. 

The golden meadows sleep in snow ; 
My little maiden, dost thou know 
How half unconscious love may grow ? 



36 SHADOW SONG. 



XIV. 
SHADOW SONG. 

The silver dew hath come agam 
To garden, hill, and meadow : 

It is the shadow of the rain — 
A shimmering soft shadow. 

The cool white moonlight hath its will 
With wood and glistening meadow : 

'T is smishine's shadow, pale and still, 
A mystical, sweet shadow. 

My Queen the shining path doth take 
Across the misty meadow; 

I follow for her darling sake — 
For I am but her shadow. 



ON THE ROAD. 37 



XV. 
ON THE ROAD. 

Dost know the way to Paradise ? 
Pray, tell me, by thy grace. 

" Any way thou canst devise 
That leads to my Love's face — 
For that 's his dwelling-place." 

How far is it to Paradise "i 
" Ah, that I cannot say ; 

Time loiters and my heart it flies — 
A minute seems a day 
Whene'er I go that way." 



38 NOCTURNE. 



XVI. 

NOCTURNE. 

Wan Twilight in her gowTi of gray 
Comes swiftly down the western way, 

With Moonshine hastening after ; 
And here among the forest damps 
She lights her twinkling firefly lamps, 

And stills the wind's wild laughter. 

The brook in trilling monotone _ 
Gives sleepy welcome of its own, 

The cedars bend and quiver. 
But all the meadow sounds are still. 
The flocks are folded on the hill 

Beyond the placid river. 



NOCTURNE. 39 

Sweet Twilight, as thou com'st to these 
With healing dew and soothing breeze, 

So come thou unto me. 
Bring gentle dreams and quiet rest, 
Weave, weave thy spell, O shadowy guest, 

In calm benignity ! 



40 WIND-FL O WER. 



XVII. 
WIND-FLOWER. 

I THOUGHT to find my darling waiting in the 
wood — 

Did anybody see her, to-day or yesterday ? 
She wears a snowy gown, 
And the softest cloak of do\\Ti. 

It 's a timid air she has, and a modest little way. 

It 's no use to ask the Wind, for he 's jealous of 

my dear ; 
He wants her for himself, and he wooes her all 

the time ; 



WIND-FL O WER. 41 

But woo her all he dare, 
My darling does n't care, — 
She shakes her little head to his reason and his 
rhyme. 

I thought to find her hidden in the brown and 

rustling leaves ; 
The days are long and sunny warm, where can 
my treasure stay ? 
— Ah, here you are, my sweet, 
Here, smiling at my feet. 
Spite of all your timid air, and your modest little 
way ! 



42 O GOLDEN ARROW, 



XVIII. 

O GOLDEN ARROW. 

O GOLDEN arrow on the spire, 
Yield'st thou to the Wind's desire ? 

— To the southward veering, turning, 
In the crimson sunset burning. 

O heart, why stir in sad desire — 
Burn'st thou within Love's altar-fire ? 

— To the southward vainly turning. 
For thine own Beloved yearning ! 



THE SENTINEL. 43 



XIX. 
THE SENTINEL. 

He paces round the fortress wall 
For hours and hours together ; 

Afar his ringing footsteps fall ; 
Through wild and wintry weather 

He paces round the fortress wall 
Hours and hours together. 

So Love doth guard the loving heart 
For years and years together. 

Grief cannot stay, nor anger start, 
Whatever be life's weather. 

So Love doth guard the loving heart 
Years and years together. 



44 BLUE FLAGS. 



XX. 

BLUE FLAGS. 

FLEUR DE LIS. 

What sweet rebellion in thy blood, 
My June, hath bid thee raise 

Thy royal standards by the wood 
And through the meadow ways ? 

What stir of passion, darling sprite, 

Spread these blue banners to the light ? 

Past lily buds and leafy blades 

The glorious pageant flies : 
In sunny shallows, reedy shades. 

Unnumbered blossoms rise. 



BLUE FLAGS. 45 

By rocky coast, in salty bight, 
Thy banners glitter in the light. 

Wrought of warm noons and morning dew, 

And painted from the skies, 
Say, have they not the very blue 

Of Maiden Marian's eyes ? 
Ah, June, thy flags are not so bright 
As those deep eyes are in the light I 



46 A DAY IN SPRING. 



XXL 

A DAY IN SPRING. 

Little violets in the garden staying, 

Small and blue, and sweet as sweet can be, 

Don't you wonder what it is we 're playing 
Up in the world? Suppose you come and see. 

We play at joy, and find our play no pleasure ; 

We play at faith, and quickly throw it by ; 
We play at hope, and think our toy a treasure 

Until Time shows it scarcely worth a sigh. 

Little violets in the garden staying, 

Small and blue, and sweet as sweet can be. 

Do you wonder what it is we 're playing ? 

Wake up, darlings ! Pray you, come and see. 



THE SHADOW. 47 



XXII. 
THE SHADOW. 

If he once were dear, 

Oh, if he once were dear — 
Love cannot die and be forgotten quite. 

If he hath grieving lain 

At the feet of Pain, 
The tired heart still keeps his memory bright. 

A gentle ghost, he sits 

At frozen hearths, and flits. 
Quiet and calm, beside the desolate way ; 

And still the sweet appeal 

His shadowy eyes reveal 
Takes heart and soul back to a happier day. 



48 MARCH SONGS. 



XXIII. 



MARCH SONGS. 



Aloft, alow, the mad winds blow ; 

On fields and uplands bare 
They seize the lingering wreaths of snow, 
And hurl and whirl them to and fro. 

And heap them here and there. 

Round the deserted garden-ways 

Where last year's lilies lie, 
The savage North-wind, shrieking, strays, 
And there the wilful West-wind plays 

With flower-stalks dun and dry. 



MARCH SONGS. 49 

Blow, blow, wild winds, aloft, alow ! 

The ides of March are past ; 
Swift as your wings the dark days go. 
Then blow your maddest, winds, blow, blow ! 

My May is coming fast. 

11. 

Wax and wane, once and again, 

O pallid moon of March ! 
Swifter lift thy light and drift 

Across the sky's blue arch. 

Wax and wane, once and again. 

Till April 's fled away ; 
Speed, speed thy flight through night to night. 

And be the moon of May. 



50 FOR LOVE IS BLIXD. 



XXIV. 

FOR LOVE IS BLIND. 

Fate counselled her if she were wise 

To set a guard upon her eyes, 

And thus be safe from Love's surprise. 

But Youth, the hero, came erelong, 

Came singing through a heedless throng; — 

She listened, breathless, to his song. 

•* O Fate," she murmured, " wert thou wise ? 

I set a guard upon mine eyes, 

Yet must I yield to Love's surprise ! " 



A LOVER'S ANSWER. 51 

XXV. 

A LOVER'S ANSWER. 

An early rose, a late rose — 

What matters it, mine own, 
Since all its gracious beauty 
Blooms for you alone ? 
An early rose is of the dawn, dewy, fleeting, 

bright ; 
A late rose is of the noon, a lingering delight. 

First love, last love — 

What does it matter, dear. 
Since for your maiden grace it pleads 
In earnest faith and fear ? 
First love is of the dawn, dewy, fleeting, bright ; 
Last love is of the noon, life's lingering delight. 



52 THE DIFFERENCE. 



XXVI. 

THE DIFFERENCE. 

The budding boughs before him bent 

In the dark and the rain, 
As carelessly he turned and went 

Down the lonely lane. 
And drifting with the wind's wild cry 
She heard : " Good-by, fair friend, good-by. 

At the door she idly stayed 
And watched the twilight wane 

Through the arch the wet boughs made 
Above the dreary lane. 

Ah, sodden earth and darkening sky ! 

She wept, "Good-by, my Love,, good-by." 



THE DIFFERENCE. 53 

Through the rain and the wind he went 

Into the world again. 
Fate and Fortune before him bent, 

Forgot was the lonely lane. 
Only the night- wind heard her cry — 

" Alas ! Good-by, my Love, good-by." 



54 APRIL FANTASIE. 



XXVII. 
APRIL FANTASIE. 

The fresh, bright bloom of the daffodils 
Makes gold in the garden bed, 

Gold that is like the sunbeams 
Loitering overhead. 
Bloom, bloom 

In the sun and the wind — 

April hath a fickle mind. 

The budding twigs of the sweetbrier 

Stir as w'ith hope and bliss 
Under the sun's soft glances, 

Under the wind's sly kiss. 
Swing, swing 
In the sun and the wind — 
April hath a fickle mind. 



APRIL FANTASIE, 55 

May, she calls to her little ones, 

Her flowers hiding away, 
" Never put off till to-morrow 

What you may do to-day. 
Come, come 
Through the sun and the wind — 
April hath a fickle mind." 



56 THE PRINCE. 



XXVIII. 
THE PRINCE. 

September waves his golden-rod 
Along the lanes and hollows, 

And saunters round the sunny fields 
A-playing with the swallows. 

The corn has listened for his step, 
The maples blush to greet him, 

And gay, coquetting Sumach dons 
Her velvet cloak to meet him*. 

Come to the hearth, O merry Prince, 
With flaming knot and ember ; 

For all your tricks of frosty eves. 
We love your ways, September ! 



ALL THE YEAR ROUND. 57 



XXIX. 

ALL THE YEAR ROUND. 

Go, time and tide, go as you will — 

I cannot heed your ways. 
What care I for summer glow. 
What care I for ice and snow, 
When love doth fill my days ? 

Unto its ark through wind and rain 

My heart flies as the dove ; 
Oh, rosy is the darkened day 
And rosy is the stormy way 
That lead me to my Love. 



58 ALL THE YEAR ROUND. 

How can I care if leaves be green 

Or gray with early rime ? 
Love, ruling, reigning in the soul 
With pure and passionate control, 
Makes its own summer-time I 



LOVE'S IMAGINATION. 59 



XXX. 

LOVE'S IMAGINATION. 

" A little Western flower — " 

There is a pretty herb that grows 

In the everywhere. 
The chilliest wild winter snows, 

The roughest saucy air, 

It hath a way to dare, 
And kissed by warmest wind that blows 

It blooms as fairy fair. 
Yet though it grow on every side. 
No mortal knows where it doth bide. 
One seeks in vain till locks be gray ; 
And one, upon some happy day, 
Unheeding, finds it in his way. 



6o LOVE'S IMAGINATION. 

Hast found the wildling, my Lucile ? 

Ah, do not pluck it, Sweet ; 
If but one dainty touch it feel, 

It withers at thy feet 1 



THE QUEST. 6i 



XXXI. 

THE QUEST. 

It was a heavenly time of life 
When first I went to Spain, 

The lovely land of silver mists, 
The land of golden grain. 

My little ship through unknown seas 
Sailed many a changing day ; 

Sometimes the chilling winds came up 
And blew across her way. 

Sometimes the rain came down and hid 
The shining shores of Spain, 

The beauty of the silver mists 
And of the golden grain. 



62 THE QUEST. 

But through the rains and through the winds, 

Upon the untried sea, 
My fairy ship sailed on and on, 

With all my dreams and me. 

And now, no more a child, I long 

For that sweet time again, 
When on the far horizon bar 

Rose up the shores of Spain. 

lovely land of silver mists, 
O land of golden grain, 

1 look for you with smiles, with tears, 
But look for you in vain I 



MAY MORNING SONGS. 63 

XXXII. 
MAY MORNING SONGS. 



When Chanticleer in early morn 
Winds his keen and merry horn, 
Meadow-mists, all pale and shy, 
After moonshine, fading, fly ; 
Dew-wet daffodils arise, 
Pansies open their dark eyes ; 
Apple-blossoms far and near 
Unlock their dainty buds to hear. 
Dream and midnight phantasy 
To haunt of elf and goblin hie, 
Or make a forty-minute dart 
To vex some drowsy Chinese heart. 
Floods of shimmering sunshine play 
Around the world and make it May ! 



64 MA V MORNING SONGS. 



11. 

Rosy clouds fled round the sky, 
The little joyous Winds rushed by, 
In greening woods to wake the Day, 
And it was May ! 

Her blue eyes opened sweet and slow, 
The violet buds began to blow ; 
She smiled, and in a sudden flame 
The tulips came ! 



TRYST. 65 



XXXIII. 

TRYST. 

" There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook, 
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream — " 

Under the willow on a summer day, 

He watched the breaking bubbles on the 
stream, 
Eager, impatient, chiding eve's delay, 
For one soft footstep list'ning till the gray, 
Cool twilight, falling, held him like a dream. 

The gentle stars came out, but she, of all 
The fairest star, shone not upon his dark; 

He felt the tender dew begin to fall ; 

He heard a nestling's faint and sleepy call. 
And saw the firefly light his radiant spark. 



66 TRYST. 

— O cruel Fate ! the thread is cut you spun. 

He sees a fair face in the shadows gleam : — 
Pale, pale, poor girl — her little day is done ; 
Kissed by the careless ripples as they run, 

She comes to meet him, tossing in the stream. 



MARGUERITE. 67 



XXXIV. 



MARGUERITE. 

From dawn to nightfall at her window sitting, 
She waits, while drift the heavy hours away ; 

And like the swallows all her thoughts go flitting 
To that sweet South wherein they fain would 
stay. 

Up from the street there comes the lazy laughter 
Of girls who linger by the fountain's fall ; 

She heeds them not — her gaze still follows after 
The clouds that roll beyond the city wall. 

She vaguely hears her mother's fretful chiding, 
Her idle wheel grows dusty at her side ; 

Listless she wonders where her love is biding : 
Where'er he be there must her heart abide. 



68 MARGUERITE. 

All the day long she listens for his coming, 
All the long day she dreams of one dear face ; 

She hears his whisper in the bees' low humming, 
She feels his kisses in the wind's embrace. 

Lonely she dreams while the warm sunshine lingers 
Upon the carven angels of her chair — 

Alone sits sobbing, while with silver fingers 
The moonbeams thread her soft unbraided hair- 

Ah, heavy heart ! so passionate its yearning, 
She needs must know that all her peace is o'er ; 

That eager pain 'neath her white bosom burnmg 
Tells her 't is gone, to enter there no more ; 

But once to feel, unchecked, his fond caressing ! 

One wild, sweet hour close to his heart to press ! 
There her thought stops ; what else of bliss or 
blessing 
The great world holds she does not care to 
guess. 



MARGUERITE. 69 

Still at her window, dreaming, longing, weeping, 
"While to their mates the gray doves coo and 
call. 
She leans and watches the slow clouds go 
creeping 
Far down the blue, beyond the city wall. 



70 AUTUMN SONG. 

XXXV. 

AUTUMN SONG. 

Red leaf, gold leaf, 
Flutter down the wind : 
Life is brief, oh ! life is brief, 
But Mother Earth is kind ; 
From her dear bosom ye shall spring 
To new blossoming. 

The red leaf, the gold leaf. 
They have had their way ; 
Love is long if life be brief, — 

Life is but a day ; 
And Love from Grief and Death shall spring 
To new blossoming. 



SUMMER NIGHT. 



71 



XXXVI. 

SUMMER NIGHT. 

Lend me thy lance, O gracious moon, 
That I may cleave the dark ; 

Sing softer, wind, or hush thy tune ; 
O laughing river, hark ! 

For I have lost my heart, alas ! 

And know that it is near. 
— O tangled vine-leaves, let him pass, • 

He comes, my dear ! my dear ! 



72 QUAKER LADIES. 



XXXVII. 

QUAKER LADIES. 

[In New England the Houstonia is known as the 
Quaker Lady."] 

More shy than the shy violet, 
Hiding when the wind doth pass, 
Nestled in the nodding grass, 

With morning mist all wet, 
In open woodland ways 
The Quaker Lady strays. 

Pale as noonday cloudlets are, 

Floating in the blue, 
This little wildwood star 

Blooms in light and dew. 



QUAKER LADIES. 7^ 

Sun and shadow on her hair, 

Flowers about her feet, 

Pale and still and sweet ; 
As a nun all pure and fair, 
Through the soft spring air, 

In the light of God 

Deborah walks abroad. 

Her little cap it hath a grace 

Most demure and grave, 
And her ke«rchief's modest lace 

Veils the lovely wave 
Above her maiden heart, 
Where only gentle thoughts have part. 

Even the tying of her shoe 

Hath beauty in it too, 
A delicate, sweet art. 

Hiding when the wind goes by, 
Not afraid, yet shy. 



74 QUAKER LADIES. 

The tiny flower takes from the sky 
Life's own light and dew, 
And its exquisite hue. 

And the little Quaker maid 

Timidly, yet not afraid, 

Unfolds the sweetness of her soul 
To Heavenly control. 

And wears upon her quiet face 

The Spirit's tender grace. 



THE WAYS OF LOVE. 75 



XXXVIII. 
THE WAYS OF LOVE. 

Sweet and bitter together, — 

That is our portion here ; 
Love that is truth, growth, spirit, — 

That is the sweet, my dear. 

Sweet and bitter together, — 
Reproach and scorn and fear ; 

Love that forgives not, endures not, — 
That is the bitter, my dear. 

Sweet and bitter together, — 

That is our portion here. 
Thank Him who on one side the river 

Gives us only the sweet, my dear. 



76 OLIVIA. 

XXXIX. 

OLIVIA. 

With flout and pout and pretty frown 
For this, for that, Olivia teased ; 

I kissed her cheek, and smiled her down 
Until her saucy urging ceased 

And angry tears shone in her eyes, 

With : " Nay, my love, it were not wise. 
My fair Olivia." 

But soon, with this and that forgot, 
I wooed my bright Olivia's smiles : 

She turned to sunshine on the spot ; 
I fell before her fairy wiles ! 

— Yet wondered then, and wonder still 

How 't was she got her own sweet will, 
My wife, Olivia. 



LILAC. 77 



XL. 

LILAC. 

I CANNOT tell why lilac flowers 

Should bring me such strange dreams : 

Within their scented purple buds 
A wondrous witchcraft gleams. 

It pictures languid Persian girls, 
Star-Eyes and Rose-in-Bloom, 

The jewel-clusters gathering 
In Orient garden-gloom. 

Then in a still New England lane, 

Beneath the starlight wan, 
My errant fancy stays to kiss 

A dove-eyed Puritan. 



78 LILAC. 

Ah, Lilac, in your pretty art 
You give me of the best, — 

The passion of the Orient, 
The sweetness of the West! 



A SUMMER RAIN. 79 



XLI. 

A SUMMER RAIN. 

The rippling music of the shower is still ; 

Low, thunderous murmurs tremble in the west ; 
A listless breeze now stirs the dripping leaves, 

Now wafts a perfume from its crimson nest. 
Bright blooms the rose, bright waves the ripen- 
ing grain, 
Crowned with the blessing of the summer rain. 

The solemn elm-tree shakes its ancient locks 
In grave monotony above the stream ; 

From all its branches roll the shining drops, 
Dimpling the water with a transient gleam. 

Upon the earth the hand of God hath lain, — 

His benediction is the summer rain. 



8o A SUMMER RAIN. 

So in my heart the summer lives and glows, 
And in its light soft shine the coming years ; 

I lie and dream through many a golden day — 
Ah happy dreams that bring such happy tears ! 

No joy was e'er so sweet as this sweet pain — 

Gleaming through sunshine falls the summer rain. 



ALL IN ALL. 8i 

XLII. 
ALL IN ALL. 

Her Love, he hath a lordly way, 

He knoweth how to chide ; 
But 't is no grievance to obey, — 

She sees in him her guide. 

His frown doth hurt her to the heart, 

Yet she would not rebel ; 
She could not see 't, were they apart, 

So she doth love it well. 

The music of his voice can lose 

Naught in its sternest change ; 
Then, though he chide, she cannot choose 

Her loving to estrange. 



82 NOVEMBER DAYS. 



XLIII. 
NOVEMBER DAYS. 

Flying, flying — 
I watch the swallows flying, 

Flitting south before November snows, 
Leaving the delaying leaves a-dying 

Broken-hearted for the buried rose. 

Follow, follow — 
Everything must follow ; — 

Even the memory of the summer dies. 
Follow, follow ; good-by, happy swallow, 

Flying southward as the summer flies. 



TO-MORROW. 83 

XLIV. 

TO-MORROW. 

O SUMMER day, that art so brief, 

From Earth her utmost beauty borrow. 
With wildwood song and fragrant leaf 
Weave happy visions of To-morrow ! 
O fair To-day, 
That will not stay. 
Leave some bright vision of To-morrow ! 

O winter day, that art so long. 

Canst not from flying summer borrow 
Some fancied bloom and light and song. 
Some heavenly vision of To-morrow! 
O desolate day 
That must away, 
Leave some bright vision of To-morrow ! 



84 LOVE IN HERMITAGE. 



XLV. 
LOVE IN HERMITAGE. 

Behind closed doors and double locks he bides, 
The little anchorite, grave, serene, and sweet, 

With radiant wings hid 'neath monastic guise, 
And quiver laid, forgotten, at his feet. 

A wreath of thorns, a knotted scourge, hath he. 

And drops of flame that are his rosary. 

Year after year the mayflowers smile and die ; 

O'er wild-rose hedges summer breezes blow ; 
The last frail gentian nods forlorn adieus. 

And winter snows drift ghostly to and fro. 
" Hath summer come ? " " Is winter here ? ' 
saith he, 

And, musing, turns him to his rosary. 



LOVE IN HERMITAGE. 85 

Each ruby bead gleams with a secret fire, 
Each the brief history of a tilt with life ; 

This, tragic passion — this, a dear despair — 
This, dream of rest that is to end the strife. 

" What griefs, what joys, lie prisoned here," saith 
he, 
And tells his prayers upon his rosary. 

The soul it is that guards this hermitage ; 

The busy world, unseeing, passes by, 
Counts up its losses, balances its gains. 

Unconscious of a treasure hidden nigh. 
Sweet Love laughs softly. " Life is short," saith 

he, 
"And to the grave I give my rosary." 



86 A CJ^V FROM THE SHORE. 

XLVI. 
A CRY FROM THE SHORE. 

Come down, ye graybeard mariners, 

Unto the wasting shore ! 
The morning winds are up, — the gods 

Bid me to dream no more. 
Come, tell me whither I must sail, 

What peril there may be. 
Before I take my life in hand 

And venture out to sea ! 

" We may not tell thee where to sail, 
Nor what the dangers are ; 

Each sailor soundeth for himself. 
Each hath a separate star : 

Each sailor soundeth for himself. 
And on the awful sea 



A CJ^V FROM THE SHORE. 87 

What we have learned is ours alone ; 
We may not tell it thee." 

Come back, O ghostly mariners, 

Ye who have gone before ! 
I dread the dark, impetuous tides ; 

I dread the farther shore. 
Tell me the secret of the waves ; 

Say what my fate shall be — 
Quick ! for the mighty winds are up. 

And will not wait for me. 

" Hail and farewell, O voyager ! 

Thyself must read the waves ; 
What we have learned of sun and storm 

Lies with us in our graves : 
What we have learned of sun and storm 

Is ours alone to know. 
The winds are blowing out to sea, 

Take up thy life and go ! " 



88 MORNING-GL OR Y. 

XLVII. 
MORNING-GLORY. 

Flower-o'-flax is like the sky, 

Or an innocent maiden's eye ; 

Lilies, too, are very fair, 

And larkspur hath a regal air ; 

The red rose wooes the wind afar ; 

Marigold 's a fairy star ; 

All debonair and full of cheer, 

Sweet-William 's a gay cavalier ; 
Yet dearer than these you are, my pretty sweeting. 
My Morning-glory, dainty-fine and fleeting ! 

Where last year's withered branches bide. 
There doth my Beauty twine and hide : 
That clinging tendril's soft caress 
Might move a stone to tenderness. 



MORNING-GL OR Y. 

At dawn her lovely lids unclose 
To shame the clouds with pearl and rose. 
All a flower knows of fresh and sweet 
In these bewitching blossoms meet. 
Oh, dearest of all you are, my pretty sweeting. 
My Morning-glory, dainty-fine and fleeting ! 



90 THE HIDDEN CHARM, 



XLVIII. 
THE HIDDEN CHARM. 

Whether my life be glad or no, 

The summers come, the smnmers go. 

The lanes grow dark with dying leaves ; 

Icicles hang beneath the eaves ; 

The asters wither to the snow : 

Thus doth the summer end and go. 
Whether my life be glad or no. 

Whether my life be sad or no, 

The winters come, the winters go. 

The sunshine plays with baby leaves ; 

Swallows build about the eaves ; 

Violets in the woodland blow : 

Thus doth the winter end and go. 
Whether my life be sad or no. 



THE HIDDEN CHARM. 91 

Yet Mother Nature gives to me 
A fond and patient sympathy ; 
In my own heart I find the charm 
To make her tender, near, and warm ; 
Through summer sunshine, winter snow, 
She clasps me, sad or glad or no. 



92 UNDER THE STARS. 



XLIX. 
UNDER THE STARS. 

O Night, look down through cloud and star 

Upon our fret and pain ! 
Bid all the dreams that day denies 

Bloom into faith again ! 
In silvery shades of shadow come 
And take Earth's weary children home ! 

Sweet teacher, wiser than the schools, 

Thy speechless lessons bring ; 
The rebel soul, the aching heart, 

The will like broken wing. 
Make ready for a stiller night. 
And for a dearer Morning Light ! 



VAGRANT PANSIES. 93 



L. 



VAGRANT PANSIES. 

They are all in the lily bed, cuddled close to- 
gether — 
Purples, Yellow Cap, and little Baby Blue ; 
How they ever got there you must ask the April 
weather. 
The morning and the evening winds, the sun- 
shine and the dew. 

Why they should go visiting the tall and haughty 
lilies 
Is very odd, and none of them will condescend 
to say ; 



94 VAGRANT PANSIES. 

They might have made a call upon the jolly daf- 
fodillies — 
They might have come to my house any pleas- 
ant day. 

They don't have a good time, I think, their little 

faces 
Look so very solemn underneath each velvet 

hood ; 
I wonder don't they feel among the garden's airs 

and graces 
That shy Cousin Violet is happier in the wood ? 

Ah, my pretty Pansies, it 's no use to go a-seek- 
ing; 
There is n't any good time waiting anywhere ; 
I fancy even Violet is troubled — mildly speak- 
ing— 
When somebody plucks her, finding her so 
fair. 



VAGRANT PANSJES. 95 

There 's nothing left for you, my pets, but just to 
do your duty : 
Bloom, and make the world bright, — that 's 
the best for you; 
There is n't much that 's lovelier than your bash- 
ful beauty, 
My Purples, my Yellow Cap, my little Baby 
Blue. 



96 JUNE. 

LI. 

JUNE. 

■ Of silvery-shining rains 

And noonday golds and shadows 
June weaves wild-daisy chains 
For the happy meadows. 

She stoops to set the stream 
With scented alder-bushes, 

And with the rainbow gleam 
Of iris 'mid the rushes. 

She scatters eglantine 

And scarlet columbine. 

Ah, June, my lovely lass, — 
Sweetheart, dost thou not see 

I stay to watch thee pass — 
What hast thou brought to me "i 



JUNE. 97 



Thy mystic ministries 

Of glorious far skies, 

Thy wild-rose sermons, Sweet, 

Like dreams profound and fleet, 

Thy woodland harmony 

Thou givest me. 

The vision that can see. 
The loving will to learn. 

How fair thy skies may be, 
What in thy roses burn. 

Thy secret harmonies, — 

Ah, give me these ! 



98 MIDSUMMER SONG. 

LII. 
MIDSUMMER SONG. 

Now flits the bee through clover-dales, 

Now shallow grows the river 
In leafy nooks where lilies float 

And wandering sunbeams quiver. 
Now thistledown begins to fly, 
And drowsily the South winds sigh, 
" Good-by, good-by, 
Good-by." 

O fair Midsummer ! Like the bee 

Adream in sylvan places, 
We taste the sweetness of thy bloom, 

Thy wonderful, wild graces. 

Alas ! must all this beauty die ? 

— Drowsily the soft winds sigh, 

" Good-by, good-by, 

Good-by." 



m. 



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